


Toys

by travellinghopefully



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Cock Cages, M/M, Masturbation, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie and Malcolm have fun with toys</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dominance

**Author's Note:**

> tags are mostly for later chapters
> 
> this is my first fic request - Jamie and Malcolm and toys....
> 
> Julius is utterly incidental, but he is there....
> 
> does just about follow on from "Scum", so early in their relationship - if you want happier, read "Monogamy"
> 
> and this is not a how to guide

Jamie followed his normal routine, routine was good. Two months of intensive therapy, now and for forever more once a week, work had insisted, Malcolm had insisted. Bunch of fucking wankers. Therapy and routine and he could work. He could function, mostly. He’d taken up boxing, not fighting, sparring, training –he’d done it when he was a teen, he liked the discipline, he loved the physicality. The exercise didn’t hurt either.

Sex hadn’t happened since.

Malcolm was the one place he wouldn’t go with the therapist. He had talked vaguely about relationships, not ascribing meaning or significance to any of them. He wanted to keep Malcolm private, he wanted to keep Malcolm as his. They’d made out (what was he? 12?) and that was amazing, and the kissing was enough to make him weak and breathless (what was he? a 12 year old girl?), he could wank, but no sex – he just couldn’t.

He didn’t want to know, but Malcolm told him about others, he never brought anyone home (which on some level was a good thing), but Malcolm hadn’t stopped having sex...he wasn’t sure he was dealing with that. But he wasn’t talking to the cunt of a fucking therapist about it either. Problem was, he didn’t talk to Malcolm either.

So, routine.

And taking every opportunity to terrify Ollie.

He walked into Malcolm’s office to say goodnight, something he had always done, just in case there were last minute instructions for then or the morning. It was just work, but he was always irrationally pleased if Malcolm decided to leave work and go home with him.

He could hear the sounds before he reached the door. He stopped in the corridor. His hands balled into fists. He turned on his heel to spin and walk away.

But he couldn’t.

The door was open. What the fuck? Did Malcolm want him to walk in on him? It was gone 12, generally that only left Malcolm in the building...who was he with?

No, walk away.

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

He walked through the door. 

Malcolm had his back to him. Someone face down on the desk, Malcolm pinning them down, holding their neck. Thrusting into them mercilessly. 

The sounds were obscene, from the sex and from the man on the desk, Malcolm was quiet, focused, controlled. The other man’s trousers were pooled on the floor round his ankles – Malcolm was apparently fully dressed.

Jamie wasn’t sure whether he should feel sick.

And then...Malcolm turned and looked at him. Slowing his thrusts right down and staring straight into Jamie’s eyes. 

There were muffled sounds of protest from the other man. Fuck, it was at that point he realised it was Julius. 

Fuck.

And still Malcolm stared at him, looked him slowly up and down, keeping his thrusts shallow, unwavering in his gaze.

Jamie couldn’t believe this, but he found himself astonishingly hard. His hand went to his zip.

Malcolm gave a roll and twist of his hips, Julius howled. Looking straight at Jamie he flicked his tongue out over his dry lips, nodding infinitesimally.

Jamie yanked down his zip and freed his cock from his boxers. Nothing teasing, nothing slow, his hand blurred over his cock, pulling and twisting, swiping his thumb over the head, pressing just underneath, sweeping down and repeating. He stared at Malcolm. 

 

Malcolm indifferent to the man under him, the man keening and struggling and whining, his focus only on Jamie. He watched so intently, seeing the conflict of tension and arousal sweeping over Jamie’s features, the shaking, the bunched muscles in his jaw, the intense concentration as he teetered on the edge. 

Malcolm mouthed at him, “Come for me.”

And Jamie did, hard, grabbing the nearest chair to hold himself steady, keeping his eyes on Malcolm the whole time.

This shouldn’t be good, but it fucking was.

Still holding Jamie’s gaze, Malcolm picked up his pace, almost hammering into his helpless partner. There was an inchoate cry and Julius had obviously come. A flicker of distaste crossed Malcolm’s face – and Jamie knew this was about dominance, not sex.

Jamie crossed the distance between them, locked his fingers in Malcolm’s hair and kissed him. All teeth, no gentleness. He dragged his mouth over Malcolm’s jaw and down his throat. He bit and sucked, and Malcolm moaned. Malcolm’s thrusts became erratic and he bit down on his own sounds, held back from slumping over the prone form. 

Malcolm shook his head and then regaining composure remarkably rapidly he indicated for Jamie to go into the pantry. Julius may not have realised there was someone else was there, and whether he had or not, Malcolm wasn’t going to let him know it was Jamie.

Jamie stood in the cupboard (fucking pantry) and shook his head. He grabbed a bottle of water from the shelf and drank it down. He took a second bottle and washed off his hands, no qualms about using a pristine table cloth as a hand towel. He waited and debated where on the scale of completely, utterly, totally fucked up this evening put him? 

He did know one thing, he was having sex with Malcolm tonight, he was going to pin him down and fuck him and yes, thinking about it was sending fresh jolts of arousal through him.


	2. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie awaits Malcolm
> 
> Teensy bit of angst, mostly fluffy
> 
> no smut...
> 
> ....there will be smut
> 
> ...oh yes

The shower was blissful, hard jets of warm water beating against his skin, washing the day away.

Dressed in his oldest pj bottoms, a ratty t-shirt of some forgotten band and fluffy socks (he fucking hated cold feet), Jamie lay back on the sofa and waited.

It was actually getting light when the front door finally opened. Jamie looked at the clock, 4.41 – how was that even possible? What had kept him so long, so late? 

Normally he wouldn’t have come home if he was going to be that late. Often he was heading back to work by 5.30 the great gruesome media machine already grinding its gears, 12000 words for scandal and apparently none for privacy.

He slid off the sofa and into the hallway. Malcolm was struggling with his coat, his laptop, a sheaf of papers and his scarf. Seriously, who wears a scarf in July?  
Jamie took the papers, stowed them carefully on the hall table, the laptop he placed on the work table in the living room.

Malcolm was just sitting on the first step of the stairs, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. Jealousy and fury competed within Jamie. Who had made him this tired, this wasted, taken so much of him from him?

He carefully stepped over Malcolm, sitting on the step that allowed him to rest Malcolm’s head in his lap. He stroked his fingers through his hair and bent and pressed gentle kisses on his forehead. Malcolm rubbed his head against Jamie’s thigh, throwing one arm over his knees and pulling him closer.

“You can’t sleep on the fucking stairs – come on love.”

He hooked his arms under Malcolm’s shoulders and carefully hauled him upright. Fuck he must be knackered, he made no protest, just mumbled something against his shoulder.

Stumbling up the stairs together (fuck he really was all limbs, arms and legs and no co-ordination) Jamie manoeuvred him into his room and he fell backwards on the bed. Jamie wished for Malcolm’s elegant hands as he delicately (fuck, he was as delicate as using a sledgehammer to open a nut) removed Malcolm’s tie, unfastened each fucking fiddly button on his shirt, gently eased his jacket and shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.

Fucking cufflinks.

Finally, he got them off. He lifted Malcolm in his arms as he pushed the garments the rest of the way off. Malcolm moved sleepily in his arms, wrapping himself round him, pulling him down and against him, burying his lips in his hair. Jamie managed to wriggle out of the enveloping, comforting warmth and concentrated on getting Malcolm out of the rest of his clothes. 

Fuck, fucking, fuck. 

He had had such plans. Maybe there was something sweeter in this? (What had his therapist said about shutting off the running commentary in his head?) 

He shut down on the places his mind was determined to revisit, the thoughts he didn’t want to rethink, the pictures he didn’t want to see.

He moved his hand to Malcolm’s belt and then his zip. Even in sleep Malcolm’s hand closed over his, their fingers tangling, again pulling him against him. Jamie paused and nuzzled against Malcolm’s hair, breathing in the smell of him – trying so hard to shut out thoughts of Julius. Julius calling out Malcolm’s name, Julius writhing under Malcolm’s touch.

Fucking, no.

No.

He pulled his trousers down, debating about his socks – he looked ridiculously cute lying there in his boxers and socks. Jamie closed his eyes and rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to ease out some of the kinks, some of the tension. He tried to remember what day of the week it was. 

Saturday. 

He reached into Malcolm’s jacket, pulled out the phones, turned them to silent. He would face the consequences later.

Sighing, he turned back to Malcolm. Crawling back up the bed, he curled in against him. He pulled the duvet over them as much as he could and Malcolm rolled against him, arms finding him, head tucked into the hollow beneath his chin. Jamie suppressed a shudder, still the only things in his head were Julius’ hairy, flabby arse, the sounds he’d made – the fucking smell of him on Malcolm. He realised he was probably imagining that, but it didn’t help. Thinking about snapping off Julius' cock and shoving it down his throat helped a little.

He buried his nose in Malcolm’s hair again, letting the smell of his shampoo, the smell of him fill his lungs, chase the bad things away.

Somehow, he fell asleep, drifting off, listening to Malcolm breath, the occasional soft snuffling noise, the quiet snores.

Waking entwined in Malcolm’s arms and legs was still blissful, those few precious moments before memory, when all he felt was warm and happy.

Then he realised he was mostly cold, and uncomfortable. The half of him pressed against Malcolm was warm, the rest of him was frozen. 

He listened to the rain hammering against the window.

Fuck this, he was hard. He could feel Malcolm’s cock pressing into him too.

Fuck.

He tried to roll out of bed, Malcolm remained wrapped round him. Malcolm’s nose wrinkled, Jamie tried not to think how adorable that was. (Malcolm fucking Tucker and adorable in the same sentence, no, he wasn’t telling his therapist that either.) He kissed Malcolm’s nose and determinedly moved. Malcolm mumbled something and rolled over in the duvet.

He never slept. Jamie tried not to dwell on what had happened after he’d left last night.

He stepped into the shower and tried every setting to see if he could blast himself into wakefulness. He still found unlimited hot water a luxury.

Heading into the kitchen he poked through the fridge to see what was edible. Online shopping and door step delivery was all very well, but you had to place the order and be home. He was not eating fucking fruit.

An hour later, he fought his way back from the supermarket, he’d used up every combination of swear words he knew, that he’d ever heard Malcolm use, but they had food.

He focused on the ritual of a fry up. Mushrooms were not a vegetable. He fried a token tomato for Malcolm.

Routine. 

Routine was good.

It was gone 11, there was no sounds of movement from upstairs. Jamie risked loading a plate with food, placed it on a tray, made a pot of coffee and carried them all back up.

He placed the tray carefully on the floor, a safe distance from the bed. He placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, the only part of him visible from the duvet cocoon he’d rolled himself into.

“Love. Breakfast.”

“Mmfff fucking sleeping,fucking fuck off.”

Always eloquent.

Reaching a hand under the duvet, Jamie placed a kiss on Malcolm’s shoulder, trying to ease him into wakefulness. He needed sleep, but he needed food more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him eat anything more than a Satsuma or drink another cup of coffee.

Malcolm somehow snaked his arms back round Jamie, pulling him down against him.

No.

“No. Love, you have to eat something – then sleep.”

“Fucking let me sleep.”Malcolm growled. 

There was something compelling and so soothing about being held in Malcolm’s arms, the warmth of him, the feel of him.

Fuck no.

He pulled back out of his arms. Stood up, whipped the duvet off Malcolm and prepared for the barrage of abuse.

Malcolm was still wearing one sock. If Jamie wanted to live through the next 5 minutes it would be best not to laugh.

Malcolm raised himself up, resting his weight on his forearms, partly slumped against the pillows.

“Don’t. Want. Breakfast!”

“Either get back in bed and fucking fuck me or let me fucking sleep.” Malcolm’s head thumped back on the pillow.

Jamie stood there, his fists clenched. Furious.

Through clenched teeth he uttered one word, laced with more venom than he thought he was capable of expressing.

“Julius.”

Malcolm levered himself upright again.

“Talking now, are we? I never pretended to you.”

“Fucking Julius?!” a statement and a question.

“I used a condom.”

“I don’t want to know and I should hope you fucking did and I don’t care if you wore a wet suit and fucked in a vat of bleach, I’m not touching you ‘til you’ve had a shower and probably shots for distemper – and when were you last tested?”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Malcolm sat up properly and looked at Jamie.

“Did you see me kiss him?”

“Hold him?”

“Is he in our bed?”

Jamie focused on the words “our bed”. 

Breathe.

“When I was balls deep in another man, who did I kiss?”

How the fuck was that romantic?

Breathe.

“Jamie, there’s only you.”

“Only you get to kiss me, only you get to sleep with me, only you get to fuck me.”

Jamie let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“Ye still having a fucking shower and eating the fucking breakfast.”

Malcolm laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Then will you fucking fuck me?”

Jamie began to relax – this, this was, well, it was OK.

“Then I won’t let you out of the fucking bed.”

Malcolm had to push things.

Smirking he said “Promises, promises, you don’t have the skill or the stamina.”

Leaping out of bed and grabbing the breakfast tray Malcolm used it as a barrier between them.

Jamie snagged another piece of bacon.

“And brush your fucking teeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again - look after your mental health


End file.
